THe Barn
by Queen's Bishop
Summary: For a change, Hanley gives the squad an easy mission.


_No infringement on the rights of the owners of "Combat!" is intended. This story is for the enjoyment of "Combat!" fans only, not for any monetary profit by the author._

 _Thanks to JML for proofreading and to Susan Rodriguez for beta reading._

 **The Barn**

 **by: Queen's Bishop**

 **Indicates German is being spoken.**

"That's it?" Saunders, a bit baffled as he ran his fingers through his already slightly disheveled hair, asked.

Hanley exhaled, sending a large cloud of smoke from the cigarette he was smoking into the air. "That's it. Just check it out to be sure the Krauts haven't moved back in."

"And if they have?"

"Like I said, avoid a fight. Just report back."

"Uh huh," Saunders said. "What's the brass up to?"

"I don't know, Sergeant. I missed the last strategic briefing they gave for junior officers. Look, it's just a nice, easy mission for a change."

"Uh huh," Saunders said as he picked up the map and put his helmet back on.

Hanley laughed. "You squad leaders are all alike. You complain if I give you a tough mission and you complain if I give you an easy one."

"Lieutenant, there's no such thing as an easy mission," the sergeant said as he left the CP.

"I'm telling you, Littlejohn, I don't like this mission," a worried Nelson said as he sat cross-legged filling clips for the squad's rifles.

"Why's that, Billy?" asked Littlejohn who was trying, without much success, to sew a button on his field jacket.

"'Cause that village was spooky the first time we were there an' now it's gonna be worse."

Kirby, inserting himself into the conversation, said, "Aw, Nelson, ya think all empty villages are spooky."

"Well, don't you think they are? Just empty buildings…they give me the willies," Billy said.

"What would ya rather have, empty buildin's or buildin's fulla Krauts?" the BAR man persisted.

"Neither. Just regular buildings filled with regular people."

"Amen to that," Doc said.

Kirby responded as if this were the last word on the subject. "Yeah, but if all there was, was regular buildin's fulla regular people, there wouldn't be no war an' we'd all have to go home."

"Amen to that, too," the big man said.

At sunrise, Saunders gave the order to 'saddle up,' and the squad moved out. About three hours later, the scout spotted the village.

The German soldier pushed the small branch out of his way so he had a clear view as he looked through the binoculars. He gradually turned his head, scanning the fields to the south and east of the village. He almost missed them, but when he looked again, there was no question of what the movement that had caught his eye was. A squad of Americans was slowly making its way toward the town. He radioed the information to his sergeant and then quickly made his way back to join his comrades.

As the look-outs returned, they joined the rest of the squad in the big house and behind the forge and water trough that sat in front of a barn at the end of a street. The men quietly waited for the enemy to come to them.

Caje and Saunders cautiously moved up until the sergeant had a clear view of the village. He pulled out his binoculars and carefully studied the streets and buildings for several minutes before handing the glasses over to the scout.

When the Cajun was finished, he shook his head as he handed the field glasses back to the NCO. The village still appeared to be deserted. Nothing looked any different than from when they had last been there, the day before yesterday.

When they returned to the waiting squad, a nervous Billy asked, "How's it look, Sarge?"

Saunders pulled out his canteen and took a sip. "It looks quiet. We'll go in the same way we did before. Caje, Nelson, Parker, an' Allen, circle around an' come in from the left. Do a quick sweep, but don't touch anything. If the Krauts were here, the place might be booby trapped," he said, adding the extra instruction for the new men. "Kirby, Littlejohn, an' Doc, you're on me. We'll circle an' come in from the right. Unless you run into something, we'll meet at the barber shop at the center of town an' then head for home. Any questions?"

"Yeah, Sarge. What if we do run into somethin'?" asked Parker, the newest replacement to join the squad.

"If they don't spot you, fall back," responded the NCO.

"An'…an' if they do?"

Kirby rolled his eyes. "Then they'll shoot at ya, Parker, an' ya shoot back. That's how it works," he said. "Didn't they teach ya nothin' in Basic?"

Saunders sighed. "Alright, Kirby, knock it off."

The squad split up, each group moving slowly to opposite sides of the village. Once they reached their objective, Caje signaled Nelson and Allen to check out one side of the street while he and Parker covered the other. The pairs of men leap-frogged from building to building, giving each one a cursory examination. Once they finished with the street, they moved on to the next one.

On the opposite side of the village, the rest of the squad was doing the same thing. When they reached the end of the first street, Littlejohn stopped and looked back up the road.

Kirby joined him. "Ya see somethin'?" he asked as he, too, began to look intently up the deserted street.

"No…it's…something's not right."

Saunders saw Kirby and Littlejohn huddled in a doorway across the road. Since he hadn't seen or heard anything as he had checked the buildings on his side of the street, he wondered what the problem was.

"Doc, cross the street while I cover you," he told the medic. Once Doc was across, the NCO ran in a zigzag pattern to join the rest of his men. "What's the problem?" he growled.

Littlejohn shook his head and repeated his earlier statement. "Something's not right, Sarge."

With just a tinge of exasperation, the BAR man sighed and said, "We ain't seen nothin'."

"Littlejohn, what is it?" Saunders asked as he, too, examined the deserted street.

"I don't know, Sarge…I just know something is wrong…"

"Littlejohn…" the NCO said impatiently.

"It's…It's…It's the dogs, Sarge. Last time there was a pack of dogs running around and yapping."

The four men listened to the eerie quiet of the seemingly deserted village.

"He's right, Sarge. There were four or five of them," Doc said.

A clearly annoyed Kirby responded, "Yeah, well, they probably run off or some civilian ate 'em."

Saunders, too, could now clearly remember the dogs that had annoyed them on their last visit to the village. He thought about Kirby's explanations and dismissed the first one. As long as they could scrounge up something to eat, the dogs wouldn't have left.

His second suggestion, however, gave him food for thought. If the dogs had ended up in someone's stew pot, that person or persons had to come to the village. It could be a hungry civilian. But, it was more likely the Krauts. And, they might have killed the dogs just to shut them up. But, if they weren't staying, why go to the trouble?

"Head for the barber shop," he stated.

However, he had no sooner uttered the order than they heard a machine gun open up and the exchange of rifle fire coming from the opposite side of the town.

As they ran toward the sound of the shooting, hugging the buildings on left hand side of the road, Littlejohn thought back to what the cross street they were fast approaching looked like. At the far end of the road sat a large barn. At one time it had been the workshop of a blacksmith. His anvil and fire pit still stood off to the right.

The barn had reminded him of Wilbur Tennet's barn back home, with its two big doors in front and stables all along the back wall. Wilbur's barn housed a small herd of dairy cows and had stanchions across the back. At one time, this one had probably tended the horses of the more important residents of the village. But, when he had seen it two days ago, it sat empty, looming over the other buildings that lined both sides of the street.

The other difference was the loft. Both covered half of what would be the second floor. Wilbur's extended from the wall of the front doors across about half of the available space. How many autumn days had he and his pa helped Wilbur and his two boys haul tarps of hay up into that loft, packing in as much as possible for the cows to eat over the coming winter? But, with this barn, the loft covered the back half of the second floor with the door for hauling up hay or feed cut into the back wall.

'What else…think,' he said to himself as he ran. 'The buildings on the rest of the street…'

Looking down the street, most of them were small, set cheek to jowl on both sides of the road, except for the open space just before reaching the barn. There was also a large house to the left of the barn. That was where the smithy probably lived. It and the barn were perpendicular to the street, giving them a commanding view of all of the comings and goings on the road.

And, that was what greeted Saunders, Kirby, Littlejohn, and Doc as they came to the intersection. The Krauts were looking right down their throats from inside the large house and in front of the barn. Nelson and Parker were in doorways on opposite sides of the street, providing near-continuous fire. Allen lay on the ground, caught between two doorways when the shooting had started. And Caje…Caje was hugging the side of an entryway on the same side of the street as the house. He was safe as long as he didn't try to bring his rifle up into firing position, or to take in too big of a breath of air.

Saunders and Kirby immediately opened up. The deep bark of the BAR and the staccato bursts from the Thompson were welcome sounds to their squad mates' ears, but did nothing to free the trapped scout.

The sergeant tried to come up with a means of getting closer to the Krauts so they could get in a grenade. But, the only alleyways, as he remembered the set-up, were the open spaces between the last building and the barn on one side, which could be easily covered by fire from the large house, and that same house and the final building on the other side. The Krauts could cover that approach with the men in front of the barn. His concentration on the problem was interrupted by Littlejohn.

"Sarge, this barn is just like Wilbur Tennet's, except the opposite."

Saunders gave him a blank look.

"I mean, I think I could get in the barn from the loft at the back."

The NCO momentarily thought about sending someone with Littlejohn. After all, he wasn't the most coordinated or imaginative of his men, but he knew he couldn't spare anyone. They were barely holding the Krauts at bay as it was. "Alright, Littlejohn, give it a try," he said.

The big man backed up to the end of the street and disappeared around the corner.

Caje pushed his back more tightly against the side of the doorway. It was just by the grace of God he had been so close to it when the Krauts opened up or he would be lying in the dirt, just as dead as Allen. He couldn't see his squad mates, but he had heard Saunders and Kirby announce their arrival.

However, their added firepower didn't alter his situation. He knew it was just a matter of time before they ran low on ammo and Saunders would have to pull back to save the rest of the squad, leaving him to his fate.

He reached up and fingered the grenade hanging from the button hole of his field jacket. In order to be able to throw it, he would have to turn around, exposing himself to enemy fire. And, even then, he would be throwing blind with his right arm. But, the attempt would get the rest of the squad off the hook. No heroics trying to get him out or guilt when the squad had to withdraw.

He could put off attempting the throw for a while, but if the Sarge couldn't come up with something to get him out of his current predicament, he decided he would take his fate into his own hands.

The scout willed himself to squeeze even further into the corner. Then he closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. He would wait a few more minutes. Maybe Saunders had something in mind.

Littlejohn hunched over as he lumbered along the back side of the buildings, although he didn't know why he bothered. That was what they had told him to do back in Basic, so that was what he did. Even though when he was hunched over, he was still more of a target than any of the rest of the men in the company was when they were standing erect, except maybe Lt. Hanley.

He got to the next to the last building and he tried the back door, hoping it was unlocked. If it was, he could slip in and open the door for Caje. But, no such luck. And, there were no windows to break and crawl through either. So, he continued to the corner and peaked around it. The coast was clear; he got down on his belly and crawled first over to the big house and then all along its back wall. He paused at the end, again checking to make sure no Krauts were in-between the house and the barn. Then he crawled over to the back of the barn.

The big man stood and surveyed the scene. He was alone and he suddenly realized that what he was about to do was something the scout or the sergeant did to get one of their squad mates out of a tight spot. That was how it had always been; him, or Billy, or some new guy, or even Kirby pinned down and Caje or the Sarge trying to flank the enemy. He was just too big, too clumsy…a big moose with two left feet, as Kirby always said…to pull this off. Why hadn't he just explained about the barn to Saunders? But, it was too late now. He was stuck. No, Caje was stuck…and it was him or nothing.

Saunders saw Kirby pull out a grenade. He knew what the BAR man had in mind. Throw it and try to move up in the dust and debris from the blast. But, Caje might be hit by some of the shrapnel.

"KIRBY," he yelled, "DON'T THROW IT! YOU MIGHT GET CAJE!"

The BAR man looked at him and then up the street to where his friend was waiting for his help. He shook his head as he put the grenade away and instead fired another angry burst from his weapon.

"C'mon, Littlejohn. Whatever you had in mind, hurry it up," Saunders said softly.

Littlejohn looked up. There was the sturdy wooden arm extending out from the back of the barn, just above the set of doors that opened so the hay or bags of feed could be hauled up into the loft. At the end of the arm hung a large pulley with a strong rope threaded through it. The rope hung down and was tied to a hook on the back of the barn so it was out of the way when not in use.

He untied the rope and tested it. Yes, it and the wooden arm would hold his weight. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and closed his eyes. How many times had he climbed a similar rope back home, instead of taking the stairs to the loft, because, as a teenager, he had liked to feel the growing strength and power of his back, shoulder and arm muscles? As he raised his hands and grasped the rope, he felt that strength now. Hand over hand, with his legs wrapped around the rope, he pulled himself up. It was only when he reached the pulley that he opened his eyes as a moment of satisfaction washed over him. But, the big man knew, that was the easy part.

Reaching up, first one hand and then the other, he wrapped his fingers around the wooden arm. He hung there for a moment, looking at the closed door that stood before him. There was no ledge he could use to rest the edges of his boots on, steadying himself and taking a small bit of weight off his hands, arms and shoulders. No, he would have to hang by one arm as he got the hay doors open.

'You can do this,' he told himself. 'It's not about being quick on your feet, it's about being strong, and you're strong.' Then, once more, his mind flashed back to Wilber Tennet's barn.

'The hay doors were closed and held in place by…what? Think, Littlejohn, think…a small wooden latch. Yes, that was it. I'll just need to put my bayonet in the crack between the doors and pull it up.' He looked straight ahead. 'But here, there's only one door…So, the latch is on the side.'

Littlejohn allowed a small smile to appear on his lips. Yes, he could do this. Hand over hand, he inched his way to the closed door. When he was close enough, he let loose with his left hand and reached down to grab his bayonet. With a tight grip on the hilt, he slipped the blade into the crack between the barn wall and the door and pulled it up. There was no resistance, but the door didn't budge from its position.

He pushed the blade into the crack at the bottom of the door, making sure it was secure before letting go of it and reaching back up to grasp the wooden arm. Switching hands, he ran the blade up the other side of the door; still nothing. He again stuck the blade in the crack at the bottom of the door and reached up to the wooden arm.

'If there's no latch, what's holding the door closed? Think, Littlejohn, think…there weren't any hinges on the sides either…The door must open from the top or bottom.'

He let go of the wooden arm with his right hand and, grasping the bayonet, ran the blade all along the crack at the bottom of the door. Nothing…no wedge, no latch, no hinges. After switching hands, he reached up and started moving the blade along the upper crack. Only inches along, he hit something, and whatever it was, it didn't budge. He pulled the blade out and moved it a few inches further down the door, then put it back in the crack. He continued moving the blade along the top of the door until, several inches from the end, it hit another immovable object.

Again, a small smile appeared on Littlejohn's face. The door was just hanging on hinges. All he had to do was push it open. But, when he gave it a shove at the bottom, it still didn't move.

Although he had never seen a loft door like this, he suddenly realized what was holding it in place. Of course, this was the barn of a smithy. Wheels attached to the door ran along a track, just like the big main doors. When the door reached the end of the track, it slipped into position in the barn wall and was held there by a single wedge in the track. It couldn't be opened from the outside. Such a set-up wasn't necessary out in the country; it was a precaution against thieves here in town.

Littlejohn hung his head. He had failed.

"HOW MANY MAGS YOU GOT LEFT?" Saunders yelled.

"ONE MORE AFTER THIS ONE. YOU?" Kirby responded.

"I JUST PUT IN MY LAST ONE," the NCO replied. "C'mon Littlejohn. Whatever you had in mind, do it now," he said softly.

Caje again fingered the grenade. Although he knew the firefight had only been going on for a short while, it seemed like hours to his aching muscles as he continued to hold himself tightly against the entryway. He would give it another few minutes, enough time to make his peace.

How could he face his comrades after this? They wouldn't say anything, but they would know he was the reason Caje was dead. He was so angry with himself. He needed to lash out, to punch something.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and sent his feet flying against the hay door with as much force as he could muster. The shock wave rippled through his outstretched body, but he didn't care. It was a self-inflicted punishment for his failure. He kicked out again. That time the door actually moved. He sent his feet flying against it one more time and the door jumped up from the force of his kick and, when it fell back down, it was no longer set tightly in place. One of the wheels had been lifted off the track and the door now hung listing to one side.

The big man reached over and slipped his hand in the crack and around the side of the door. He lifted it up, and was able to roll it out of the way on the remaining wheel. He swung his legs up and into the opening and, holding tightly to the side of the barn, pulled himself into the loft.

Littlejohn quickly swung his rifle off his back and knelt down. His helmet and bayonet had fallen to the ground outside, but he still had his two grenades, safely tucked in his field jacket pockets. He waited, anticipating shots from the ground floor of the barn. But, there was nothing other than the sound of the continuing firefight going on outside. With all of that noise, no-one had heard the racket he had made breaking into the loft. He crouched as he lumbered across the wooden floor to the stairs and then made his way down to the ground floor.

He was about to drop to his belly so he wouldn't be hit by his squad's fire when he saw the pile of bloody dog carcasses lying in the corner of the barn, directly in front of him. Before, he had been driven by the need to save Caje. Now, there was the added fury caused by the unnecessary cruelty of the Krauts. He bit his lower lip and shook his head. It was often the little acts of brutality that were the hardest for the big-hearted private to bear. He lowered his large frame and crawled over to the main doors.

'Alright,' he thought. 'You've made it this far. Now what are you going to do?'

He didn't have a way to signal his comrades to hold their fire, so he would have to stay low. He wondered if he could push one of the big barn doors open from that position. He wondered how close he was to the Krauts, whether the blast from the grenade would get him, too. If not, he wondered if he would be able to stand and step out of the barn so he could lob the other grenade into one of the windows of the big house. So many thoughts were running through and getting jumbled up in his mind.

Time was up. If the Sarge waited any longer, the squad wouldn't have enough ammo left to cover their retreat. Caje slipped the handle of a grenade out of the button hole of his field jacket and, holding it close to his chest, he pulled the pin. He planted his left foot and bent his knee just a bit in preparation for pivoting into the line of fire.

Littlejohn stopped thinking about what he had to do and all of the things that might go wrong. He gave the door a shove and pulled the pin on the grenade before the Krauts in front of him were even aware they had been outmaneuvered. He tossed the grenade toward the machine gun and covered his head with his arms. The ensuing explosion took out that weapon as well as the further barn door, which toppled heavily to the ground.

The echo of the explosion hadn't even died away when the big man stood and took several steps out of the barn, pulled the pin on his second grenade, and lobbed it through the nearest window of the house. He threw himself to the ground and waited for a long five count before getting up again, pointing his rifle at the remaining Krauts, and yelling, "HANDS UP!...er…HANDY HAWK!"

Ka-BOOM

The first explosion caught the rest of the squad by surprise. But, they quickly took advantage of the chaos it created and moved up, firing at the Krauts who suddenly stood in astonishment, making themselves easy targets.

Saunders yelled, "HOLD YOUR FIRE. THAT'S LITTLEJOHN ON THE RIGHT!"

Ka-BOOM

Firing from the big house was substantially reduced.

Caje stepped out of the doorway he had been sheltering in and tossed another grenade into the house, ending all resistance from the dwelling.

From in front of the barn, shouts of, DON'T SHOOT, COMRADE, DON'T SHOOT, and I SURRENDER, could be heard as three Krauts stood with their hands in the air.

Saunders quickly began issuing orders, "Nelson, Parker, search those prisoners. Caje, Kirby, check the rest of the Krauts." He looked around for Doc and saw the medic kneeling beside Allen.

As soon as the shooting stopped, Doc rushed to the fallen soldier's side. He had watched Allen since the moment he arrived at the crossroads and hadn't seen even the slightest twitch, so he was expecting the worst when he put his hand on the young man's shoulder and rolled him over.

Allen moaned and said, "Doc, I hurt…I hurt so bad," so softly that the medic could just make out the words.

Doc moved the soldier's bloody hands away from his side, unhooked his web belt and pulled up his clothing to expose the wound. Then he set to work.

Saunders knelt down across from the medic. "How is he, Doc?"

The medic didn't look up. "He's lost a lot of blood. We'll need a litter."

Allen looked at the sergeant. "I tried…to play dead, Sarge…I didn't know…what else to do."

Saunders patted the young soldier's shoulder. "You did the right thing, Allen. We're gonna get you home. You're gonna be fine." He watched the medic for a moment longer, then said, "I'll check on Littlejohn and get you that litter."

Doc nodded.

The sergeant headed toward the last place he had seen Littlejohn. He found the big man sitting, slumped against the side of the barn, his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his ears. The NCO knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Littlejohn, are you okay?" Saunders asked.

The big man slowly raised his head. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, SARGE? IS EVERYONE OKAY? CAJE?" he shouted.

"YEAH, LITTLEJOHN, EVERYONE'S FINE. WHAT ABOUT YOU?"

"MY EARS ARE RINGING, BUT I'M OKAY. SARGE, THEY KILLED THE DOGS! THEIR CARCASSES ARE IN THE BARN. WHY'D THEY HAVE TO GO AND DO THAT?" the gentle giant asked.

"I DON'T KNOW, LITTLEJOHN." Saunders shouted back. He gave the big man's shoulder a pat and shouted, "WAIT HERE."

He walked over to Kirby and Caje and asked, "Anything?"

"We got a map off the sergeant, but that's it," responded the BAR man. "How's Littlejohn?"

"The grenade knocked out his hearing, but otherwise he seems all right," Saunders said.

"Will his ears be okay?" asked Caje, his voice full of concern.

Saunders gave a small 'I don't know' shrug and added, "I hope so…Make a litter for Allen."

"De whole time, I dought he was dead." Caje said as he and Kirby walked away.

The NCO went into the barn and saw the carcasses lying in the corner. When he came out, he was carrying a pick and two shovels. He went over to the three German prisoners and handed them the tools. "Have them follow me," he said to Billy.

Nelson and Parker exchanged glances, but neither said a word. They gave the Krauts a little shove to get them moving.

The sergeant walked around the side of the barn and into a pasture. He selected a nice shady spot and indicated to the Germans that they should start digging.

No, no…Please, comrade…You can't do this…We are just soldiers, like you…Please, the three Krauts said, all talking at once.

"Sarge, you're not gonna…" Billy started to say, but shut up when Saunders gave him an icy stare.

When the prisoners had a hole big enough and deep enough to satisfy the NCO, he led them back into the barn to the corner where the bodies of the dogs had been thrown. He indicated that the Germans should pick up the carcasses.

The Krauts might have been relieved that the hole wasn't for them, but that didn't make them any more eager to handle the dead dogs. Still, with the Americans prodding them, they carried the carcasses back to the hole, put them in it, and began shoveling dirt over them.

Once they finished with the litter for Allen, Caje and Kirby headed over to see how their other squad mate was doing.

"Littlejohn, dank you, mon ami. You saved my life," the scout said.

"Yeah, ya big moose, you done good," added the BAR man.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY," the big private shouted.

"LITTLEJOHN, DANK YOU, MON AMI. YOU SAVED MY LIFE," Caje yelled.

"SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, CAJE. I'M NOT AS QUICK AS YOU ARE," an embarrassed Littlejohn responded.

"MON AMI, IT ISN'T DE SPEED, BUT DE RESULTS DAT MATTER," the Cajun said. He turned to Kirby and when the BAR man remained silent, he said, "Didn't you want to say someding to Littlejohn?"

"Nah," Kirby said. "I already said it once an' I wouldn't want it to go to his head."

Caje rolled his eyes as he shook his head.

Saunders told Nelson and Parker, "Once you finish up, put the tools back in the barn an' then take these three over to Doc. They can carry the litter back. Tell Doc we'll move out as soon as he's ready."

"Okay, Sergeant," Parker said as the NCO walked away.

Leaving them, Saunders went behind the barn and found Littlejohn's helmet and bayonet. He returned to the big private and handed him his gear.

"LITTLEJOHN, I HAD THE KRAUTS BURY THE DOGS."

Littlejohn nodded. "THANKS, SARGE."

The NCO looked toward the medic and saw the wounded man being lifted onto the litter. "ALRIGHT, SADDLE UP! LET'S GO HOME!" he yelled.

Lt. Hanley was standing in the doorway of the CP when First Squad finally returned. Besides the tired looking men, he noted the three German prisoners and the litter they were carrying. He waited while Saunders gave some orders.

"Doc, take Allen an' Littlejohn to the aid station. Nelson an' Parker, as soon as you drop of Allen, get those prisoners to S-2."

"Right, Sarge, "Billy replied.

Hanley approached the remaining three men and, looking at the sergeant, he said, "I sent you out on an easy mission. What happened?"

"Well, Lieutenant, the Krauts let us into the village, but we had to fight our way out," Saunders replied.

"And, Sir, I was pinned down and Littlejohn got me out," Caje added.

"Littlejohn!" Hanley said, a bit surprised.

"Ya didn't think we kept him 'round just for his good looks an' his two big left feet, did ya, Lieutenant, Sir?" Kirby replied.

Saunders pulled his helmet down over his eyes as he smiled.

Hanley shook his head. "And the prisoners?"

"Littlejohn captured dem," the Cajun said.

"Littlejohn!?" the lieutenant repeated.

"It's true," Saunders said. "He might not be the best soldier in the squad, but he is an expert on barns, an' that was just what we needed."

The lieutenant was still shaking his head in dismay as he signaled the NCO to follow him to the CP. "Sergeant, I want to hear all about this mission."


End file.
